


Resolute (SFW Version)

by Fairfaxleasee



Series: Fenris/Cassia [14]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Abuse, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Physical Abuse, Post-Game(s), Scratching, Self-Harm, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:00:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28265052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fairfaxleasee/pseuds/Fairfaxleasee
Summary: As Hawke's coronation approaches, Fenris reflects on the months leading to it and its effects on Hawke.
Relationships: Female Hawke & Leandra Hawke, Female Hawke & Orana (Dragon Age), Fenris & Orana (Dragon Age), Fenris/Female Hawke, Fenris/Hawke (Dragon Age)
Series: Fenris/Cassia [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141970
Kudos: 4





	Resolute (SFW Version)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @blondetexan, @lyfurn, and @foxinboots for betaing for me.
> 
> NSFW Version available at https://archiveofourown.org/works/28264776

Despite his grogginess, a niggling feeling something was missing kept Fenris from simply rolling over and going back to sleep after the rays of sunlight seeping in through the curtains had woken him. It wasn’t until he realized what he literally couldn’t put his fingers on that he figured out what it was.

He had reached over to Cassia Hawke’s side of the bed, so that she could be the first thing he saw that year; first thing he saw, felt, smelled, touched, and tasted; but Cass wasn’t there. The sheets were cold and empty. He was starting to understand why Cass hated waking up to an empty bed so much, even beyond the scar he had left her with that night they didn’t talk about. Cass was missing from their bed too often these days. Not just their bed, the couch, the rug in front of the fireplace, one time the dining room table that he suspected she had only suggested in the hopes they would break the thing so she could claim not to have one; wherever they had fallen asleep, as safe and content as she was in his arms, something was keeping her from staying there.

_Not something;_ THAT _thing_.

Fenris glared at the closet that hid the dress she hated and was to wear for the coronation he hated even more. 

_Tomorrow._

The thought was bitter in his throat. Tomorrow they would crown Cassia Hawke Viscount of Kirkwall. As far as he was concerned they might as well be fitting a noose around her neck. Kirkwall’s Viscounts did not meet good ends. What had happened to Dumar had been shocking only because it was a Qunari who had done it. At least a dozen previous Viscounts had also been beheaded, and at least half of them in the Keep. Daggers, poisons, arrows, axes, magic, snakes, warhounds, and even an odd piano had all ended Viscounts’ reigns. And now they were offering Cass as the next sacrifice. Somehow the fact that Cass had escaped all those things, except the pianos, and more, worse even; Ostagar, the Blight, the Deep Roads, the Arishok, Orlesian parties, blood mages, abominations, Magisters, Meredith, Warden prisons, ancient Darkspawn, her mother; gave Fenris even more trepidation about the whole prospect. Like the fact Cass kept managing to make it out alive was just going to be seen as a challenge by whoever, or whatever, came after her next.

And that wasn’t even considering what Cass was doing to herself about the prospect of being Viscount. The usual ways her anxiety would manifest were getting worse, she was chewing her nails or scratching almost constantly, and he had noticed some new ones; fidgeting, pacing, talking to herself. She couldn’t eat, couldn’t focus, couldn’t sleep, which is why he kept waking up alone. If they were lucky she would manage an hour or two of sleep before waking up and be driven to wandering the estate in a daze.

She was suffering, and she didn’t have to be, and the thought made him furious. The fact that he couldn’t stop her suffering did nothing to temper his ire. He could distract her, soothe her, keep her from falling completely into the abyss that refused to let her go; but he couldn’t save her, couldn’t protect her. And he hated it.

Both of them had seen this coming as soon as Bran came with the news of the nobility’s ‘magnanimous decision.’ Fenris still regretted not throwing Dante at Bran the second he saw the Senechal's sneering face in the estate. The cat-thing was still too attached to Cass for his liking, but he had to admit it had put up an admirable showing against the Sehechal when he had stopped by, unannounced, unexpected, and very unwelcome, a few months prior.

Cass had been asleep - thinking back on it that was probably the last time she had really slept well - when he had heard the familiar feral hissing from the foyer. He had thrown on some pants and gone to investigate because he had no idea what could be provoking such a response from Dante given that he and Squall were both in the bedroom with Cass at the time. 

Bran had been standing imperiously in the foyer, although the aura of controlled calm he was trying to exude had been undercut somewhat by the furtive glances he kept throwing at Dante, who had been balled up blocking his entrance into the house proper with tooth and claw. 

Fenris had kept his glare trained on the man as he stalked down the stairs.

“Leave. _Now_.”

Dante had turned back at his voice and, for the first and only time Fenris could recall, hadn’t hissed at him. Once Fenris reached the bottom of the stairs, it retreated from its previous position and arranged itself in the exact middle of the third step where, Fenris knew from experience, it could hit anyone trying to walk up no matter what pains they took to avoid it, and resumed protesting Bran’s continued existence.

“Ugh. What happened to Serrah Hawke’s dwarven manservant? He was always so much more reasonable than you are... not to mention dressed properly.”

“I am no one’s _manservant_ and if you find my company so distasteful-”

Orana rushed into the room and slipped between them; neither he nor Cass ever quite managed to explain to her that with a select few exceptions, of which Bran was not one, uninvited guests didn’t need to be tolerated at the estate. “Please accept our humble apologies, Senechal, but Serrah Feddick and his son left Mistress’s service last month. Is there some way we can be of help?”

“Well, that’s more like it. Fetch your Mistress, I have a message for her. And do be quick about it.”

“I...I am afraid the Mistress isn’t here. I can relay your message if you like.”

Fenris had stopped taking mental notes of exactly where Bran’s vital organs were in the increasingly likely event it became necessary to remove any of them and stared in disbelief at Orana.

_Did she just...lie?_

“Not here? What do you mean not here? She’s _always_ here.”

Orana set her feet and took a deep breath. “Well...s-she’s not here now. You can’t see her.”

“Honestly, why that woman puts up with all you untrained elves…”

Fenris had heard enough from Bran. “I can’t speak to her _putting up_ with us, but I am not about to put up with you.” He reached for Bran’s throat.

“Guard Captain!”

Fenris stopped with his fingers centimeters from Bran’s throat as Aveline entered. Her jaw was set and she shook her head at him.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Bran directed his command to Aveline. “Arrest him. You saw it, he was trying to kill me.”

Aveline kept looking at Fenris. She seemed to be trying to communicate a message with the look but Fenris had no idea what it was. “I didn’t see anything...yet.”

Fenris drew back his lip at Bran. “Even if I was, you’re trespassing.”

Aveline placed a hand to her temple, “I see Hawke’s been rubbing off on you.”

“I am _not_ trespassing. I am here-”

“ _Quiet_.” Aveline glared at Bran and continued before he had the chance to interrupt again. “He has the right of it, Fenris, he’s not trespassing. He’s here on official business from the Viscount’s office.”

Fenris had snorted a laugh at the idea. “Official business from the Viscount’s office, there _is no_ Viscount, Aveline, how could he...be on…”

Aveline nodded at the pause left as the horrible realization dawned on Fenris.

“NO!” He had screamed the word. He should have cared that it would awaken Cass but he was too livid at the idea to care about anything beyond how much he did not like what they had come here to do. “NO! I won’t allow it!”

“‘Won’t allow it’?” Bran was sneering at him. “What do you mean you ‘won’t allow it’? It is not _up_ to you-”

“Shut it, you tit.” Aveline pushed him behind her and addressed Fenris. “I’m not happy about this either, Fenris, but it’s done. It’s up to her now-”

Fenris jeered at her. “You think she’s going to see this as a choice? You know how she takes things, how she feels about what happened! Worse, you know what this is going to do to her, what it does to _everyone_ , and you _still came_?”

“It’s done, Fenris. You have to let us tell her.” Aveline tried to keep her tone flat but it wavered a bit towards the end.

“I-is Mistress in trouble? Are you going to take her away?” Orana whispered her fears through flowing tears.

Fenris and Aveline responded with opposite answers at the same time.

“No.”

“YES!”

“Fenris, you’re exaggerating.”

“I am NOT! She _is_ in trouble and you _are_ going to take her away.”

“B-but I like working here for Mistress! I don’t want her to go away!” Orana was bawling at the idea.

“Now look what you did,” Aveline glared at him before trying to comfort Orana. “Hawke will be fine, Orana. We’re not going to make her do anything she doesn’t want to do.”

“Yes, you _are_.”

Orana sobbed uncontrollably. Aveline alternated between trying to calm her down and continuing to admonish Fenris. Dante was hissing from the stairway. Fenris continued to all but scream objections and Bran had decided to re-enter the fray and attempted to talk over the rest of them. A new voice from the balcony cut them all off.

“ENOUGH!” Cass stood there livid. Her hair was disheveled, she had dark circles under her eyes, and the robe she was wearing was slightly askew, but she still managed to exude more than enough gravitas to command the room.

She kept one hand on the banister as she descended the stairs. In moments like this, she reminded Fenris of the spotted cats in Seheron, honing in on an intruder to its territory and ready to neutralize the threat.

“What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On. Here.”

They stood in silence for a few seconds, except Orana who was still sobbing, and Dante who had stopped hissing but had moved on to its discontented growls.

Fenris walked over to meet her at the bottom of the stairs. He grabbed the hand that wasn’t on the banister and pulled her to him before placing his hands on the sides of her head and grabbing fistfuls of her untamed hair.

“Don’t do this, Cass. You don’t have to do this, Cass. Please, _please_ don’t do this Cass. _I don’t want you to do this, Cass_.” 

His whispers had become more urgent as he spoke. Cass was floundering under his touch. Normally he would never have gotten so close unless he was sure she was ready for it, as connected as they were, touch could still be painful for her. But this wasn’t normal. This was them asking Cass to put her head on the chopping block. And he knew she would do it, because no matter how much she mattered to him, he couldn’t persuade her to matter to herself.

“Don’t do what, Fenris? I don’t understand. Please, I need you to let me understand.”

She had grabbed his wrists. Normally that was an invitation for him to keep touching, to get closer, but he could feel her hands shake as she half-heartedly tried to pull his hands off her. And it wasn’t because she wanted them there, it was because she didn’t want to force him off.

A hand gripped Fenris’s shoulder. He turned to see Aveline, jaw set, looking straight at him. There was no hostility, but there was finality. The same finality that permeated her words: “Fenris, you need to let her go.”

Fenris looked back at Cass. She was visibly shaking but still unwilling to forcibly break away from his touch. He wanted to press her to him, drink her in before he finally resigned himself to letting her go...but he couldn’t. It was too much for her already, and he knew it, had known it. He was incensed with Bran and Aveline for coming to ask her to submit to pain for their benefits, and he was doing the exact same thing.

“Cass…” He momentarily tightened his grip on her hair as he felt the tears run down his face.

Then he let go. He turned away from her and loosed his fury on the nearest wall. He hadn’t done that in years. He had never done it at Cass’s.

“Well, if we’re quite finished with the hysterical displays, perhaps I can finally get on with what I’m actually here for.”

Fenris snarled at Bran over his shoulder. He was just able to see Cass incline her head at Bran. Cass would sometimes make a similar gesture to indicate interest or that she had heard, but the deliberateness and intensity which she had just used indicated something entirely different. Fenris had only seen her move similarly when she was preparing to end an encounter or discussion, and was willing to do so permanently if necessary.

“That would be advisable.” Fenris could hear the ice and venom in her words, but based on Bran’s expression, he was not so discerning.

Bran had straightened, but there was an underlying layer of contempt and resignation in his words. “Serrah Cassia Hawke, in recognition of your... _exemplary_ service to the city of Kirkwall, you are hereby invited to assume the position of Viscount.”

Cass had flinched at that. She blinked a few times before her eyes darted over the room. She wasn’t seeing anything but her eyes always roamed aimlessly when she was fitting pieces together. From almost anyone else, such a reaction would have likely irrevocably ceded control of the situation, but while Cass didn’t enjoy having control, if she decided she wanted it in a particular instance or for a particular purpose, there was no wresting it from her...grip? Jaws? Or did she hold it with fangs or claws? Fenris could never quite settle on the appropriate metaphor for when she got like this, but while he hated knowing just how far she had been pushed to react so viscerally, he was totally captivated anyway. 

“ _Now_ they want a Viscount?”

Bran tried to glance away.

“LOOK AT ME BRAN.”

Bran reluctantly obliged. “Circumstances have changed-”

“Oh. Have. They.”

“Clear leadership is needed-”

“Stop! Dancing!”

“You want the whole truth? Fine. This city is on the verge of utter collapse. Someone needs to step up and fix things.”

“And why should it be me?”

“As I said, your history of-”

Cass hadn’t needed to say anything that time. Bran completely wilted under her glare. 

“You are the only one who might be able to do it.”

“I’ll think about it. Now leave.” Cass pointed to the door.

Bran glanced quickly from one face to the next. From Orana, who had just stopped crying, and to Aveline, who was rubbing her arm and whispering something to her to calm her; to Dante, who had followed Cass towards Bran and was glowering at him from behind her legs; to Fenris, who matched the hostility implied in the Seneshal’s gaze overtly. He opened his mouth to speak but something pulled his focus back to Cass. She hadn’t moved, but whatever had drawn him back to her was enough to make him think better of whatever he had wanted to say. He settled for “I’ll expect your answer by week’s end.”

He had begun to turn to leave when Cass closed on him. She hadn’t needed to touch him to maneuver him to the wall and pin him there. “You will have my answer when I fucking decide you will, do you fucking understand me?”

Bran had nodded vehemently before he rushed from the estate. Aveline checked Orana one last time before turning to Cass. “Sorry, Hawke. But there really is-”

Cass held up a hand and turned away. Aveline let out a small sigh and left too.

Orana broke the silence. “I-I’ll go make some tea. I’ll leave it in the kitchen when it’s done.”

Dante rubbed against Cass’s legs before trotting off towards the kitchen with Orana. ‘Kitchen’ was only of the few words the cat-thing could always be counted on to respond to. At least when anyone other than Fenris said it.

Cass crossed an arm across her chest and scratched at the opposite shoulder as she walked back towards the stairs and all but collapsed onto them. Fenris wanted to rush over to her, but while there were advantages to Bodahn and Sandal being gone, the fact that none of the rest of them could seem to remember to check that the door was locked wasn’t one of them, so he went to slide the bolt into place first. It hadn’t taken him long, but by the time he got back to Cass she had started scratching her neck as she tapped the stair beside her with the other hand and one below her with a foot.

“Has to be me...should be me...they’d be wrong...make it worse...my fault anyway.”

Fenris clenched his fist at the last part. ‘My fault anyway.’ Cass had been blamed for so much for so long that any time anything went wrong that she was in any way involved it she just assumed it was her fault. Even when it wasn’t. Even when it was so obviously someone else’s. She had spent years torturing herself because she had thought what had happened between them had been her fault, that it had been something she had done wrong. Now she was doing it again, because Ander’s trail of destruction and suffering hadn’t ended where it should have with his death, and Fenris hated it. He just couldn’t seem to make her stop. There was a way to pull her off just about any opponent she had cornered, except herself. She had no mercy for herself.

Fenris knelt in front of her on the stairs. He took the hand she had at her throat and pulled it towards him. Her fingers continued to scratch at the air but she was trying to look at him. “Cassia, listen to me. It was not your fault. You do not need to do this.”

She shook her head with resigned futility. “That’s worse. Not’s worse.”

And Fenris understood. She had, at least, seen Bran’s offer as a choice, as something that could be refused. But the choice she had wasn’t between being Viscount and not being Viscount. It was between tearing herself apart trying to fix things and tearing herself apart for _not_ trying to fix things. And she was right, that would be worse. She was something of a non-interventionist - she had no qualms about refusing to involve herself in problems that she didn’t consider her own, that she hadn’t caused or didn’t involve her or she didn’t see a way of solving to her satisfaction - she saw it as an intrusion, and she hated intrusions, but if she saw something as an issue she somehow owned, she felt obligated to at least try and fix it. If it became obvious she couldn’t, or if someone who might be better at it came along, she would be more than willing to disentangle herself from the situation, but unless that happened there was no keeping her away. Even if she knew it might kill her.

Fenris looked away and considered his own choice. He vaguely considered leaving - either taking her with him by force or giving her an ultimatum that if she didn’t come with, he wouldn’t be back, but he knew that wouldn’t change her mind. That it would just make things worse, make them harder for her, give her another thing to blame herself for. His choice was between leaving her to suffer alone or staying and trying to make it just a bit easier. And he would not let her suffer alone again.

He looked back at her and ran the hand that wasn’t keeping hers from her own throat along her jaw. “I understand.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and smiled ruefully. “Don’t be.”

In addition to being something of a non-interventionist, Cass was also something of a walking contradiction. As much as she did not like inserting herself into a situation, as much as she would grouse, resist, drive a hard bargain, exaggerate the level of effort, remind everyone involved how much she hated doing it, shirk any sort of credit or gratitude, or pout about doing and having done it, if someone asked for her help and she thought she could give it without making things worse, she would give it. She had done it for him, she had done it for just about anyone who had asked. It was part of why he loved her.

He gazed at her on the stairs. As much as she was generally willing to give, there were parts of herself that she kept back from most people. Some of them were for her own protection, she would share them sparingly, and only with people she really trusted. They were part of what made her who she was, and Fenris loved them like he loved her. He was one of the people she had shared them with, but he wasn’t the only one. Some of them were dark, would only come out if she had been pushed too far. Fenris knew somehow, trusted somehow, that they would never be used against him; like how she knew and trusted his darker facets wouldn’t be used against her. Other people had to worry about them, Fenris could be fascinated by them. But some parts were only for him. Some things she would only share with him, do for him, do with him, _be for him_.

And he wanted them now. _Needed_ them now. It was probably a bad idea, they were both raw from what had just happened; he couldn’t be as careful as he usually was and she was more vulnerable than she usually was - a dangerous combination, but he needed them, needed her, needed to take her, needed her to let him.

She looked at him. She took the hand that he wasn’t holding and pulled at the fold in her robe and untied its sash. 

______________________

It had taken days for her to stop walking funny.

Unfortunately, once she did, she sent word to Bran that she was willing to accept the offer. The months since had been an unrelenting series of forced participation in activities Cass hated and ridiculous power-struggles with Bran. 

Despite the fact that, with the notable exception of the Duke de Monfort’s, she hadn’t attended a party or soiree, or whatever the vogue way of referring to the things was since her mother had died, once word got around that she would be the next Viscount, every noble or somehow influential citizen in Kirkwall suddenly wanted to be her friend. Although, as she rightly pointed out and remained acutely aware of throughout the entire endeavor, none of them wanted to be _her_ friend; few of them knew anything about her and what little they did most of them didn’t like very much; they wanted to be the _Viscount’s_ friend. Aveline and Varric ran what interference they could, but there were certain events with certain hosts that, in her role as Viscount, Cass had to attend. The fact that she never understood why just made them harder.

“Just what the fuck does standing around in a room talking about absolutely nothing with people who, despite the fact that they’re discussing nothing, have no idea what they’re talking about, have to do with infrastructure, budget, taxation, trade, treaties, civil claims, or criminal charges?” Cass had one arm akimbo on her hip and her lips pursed.

“Jigsaw, you have to put in some face time, make sure people remember who you are.” Varric had been looking to Fenris for help for reasons Fenris still didn’t understand. He didn’t want Cass going to the parties he wasn’t invited to, and had been told by Aveline and Bran in no uncertain terms that he was expressly barred from, any more than she did. He shrugged to the dwarf before crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. He would help Cass if she needed it. Varric was on his own.

“Oh, so now suddenly those things that happened with the Qunari and the Circle and the _red fucking lyrium statue that’s still in the blighted Gallows courtyard_ are forgettable?”

“Just make them happy, they could help you.”

“Oh, right, yeah, that sounds totally plausible. The pathetic schmucks who made things this fucking bad in the first place are suddenly going to be necessary or helpful to fix them.”

“Jigsaw, if you want to be Viscount, you need to get better at dealing with people.”

“I don’t want to be Viscount! I’m only doing this because there is _literally no one else who can_! If they wanted someone who was good with people, they should have fucking asked someone who isn’t me!”

“Well, I walked right into that one. But, seriously Jigsaw, there are just certain...social obligations that come along with the job.”

Cass had flinched at the phrase ‘social obligations.’ Fenris wasn’t positive but he thought it sounded like something her mother would have thrown at her as she tried to erase the daughter she had because she wasn’t the daughter she wanted. Lucky her father was from the South and didn’t know what kind of options he had or her mother might just have been able to manage it.

“That’s not what I’m good at. That’s not why they need me. They should just leave me alone so I can do what I’m good at that they need me for.” Cass scratched at her neck and shook her head as she turned away from Varric.

Varric glanced at Fenris for support again and Fenris glared back.

Varric sighed and pressed a hand to his temple. “Look, Cass, I’m trying to help where I can, but there are certain things that you’re going to need to do.”

Varric’s dropping the nickname got both their attention. Cass’s eyes wandered the room as she considered the statement.

“‘Need to do.’ Like you are absolutely fucking positive I ‘need to do’ this? Like there is literally no contingency in which me NOT doing this is even remotely possible?”

“Not this time.”

Cass nodded, resigned. “Okay. Fine. You say I need to do this. I trust you on that, I’m shit at this kind of stuff so I don’t fucking know. I’ll do it if it’s what I need to do. BUT!” Cass waited until she was sure she had Varric’s full attention before continuing, “I want to be _very_ clear about this, Varric, if you tell me I need to do things, I better NEED to do them. Start stretching things and I’m done. With all of it. No more doing things someone else says I need to.”

“I hear you, Jigsaw. And you do need to come to this. But it should buy you some time. See the right people, it’ll buy you more.”

Cass looked away and frowned slightly.

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell you who they are and I won’t make any promises beforehand about you meeting with any of them.”

Cass nodded again.

Varric began to leave the room but turned back in the doorway, a hand on the doorknob. “Just one more thing, Jigsaw: you’re going to need to get some dresses.”

Varric had slammed the door before either of them could react to that.

“Dresses? _DRESSES?!?_ ” Cass was pacing in a small circle gesticulating wildly. “There is a _reason_ I don’t have any dresses!”

Fenris hadn’t seen her in a dress since her mother had died. She had told him once that she only ever wore them when her mother made her. He had been considering whether telling her he thought she looked nice in them would make things better or worse. Instead he decided to try and use the opening to redirect the conversation. It would at least distract her for a bit.

“What’s that?”

She stopped pacing and looked at him. “What’s what?”

“The reason you don’t have any dresses.”

“Well, it’s not like my mother can make me wear them anymore and they didn’t have pockets, so what the fuck good were they?”

Cass had obviously made some connection that Fenris wasn’t getting. “So, you got rid of the old ones because they didn’t have pockets, but why not just get some new ones that do have pockets?”

“ _Dresses_ can have _pockets_?”

“I think Orana might be a better person to ask about that, but I’m pretty sure that’s where she keeps the cat treats she uses whenever she needs to get past Dante.”

“Why did no one tell me dresses could have pockets?”

“Why did you think they couldn’t?”

“My...I really hate that dead woman sometimes.” Cass shook her head at that.

Fenris was trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but he must not have done a very good job at it because Cass picked up on it.

“Oh, what, so this is funny to you?” Cass pursed her lips at him.

“Hmmm....slightly.”

“Slightly?” She stomped her foot in indignation.

“It’s just hard to believe you never asked anybody…”

“Why would I waste my time asking anybody? Dresses didn’t have pockets, so they were useless; there were plenty of other clothing options that DID have pockets so I stuck to them. Why would I even think to ask about something useless when I had a perfectly viable non-useless alternative?”

“What is that phrase you use, ‘corroboration evidence’?”

“ _Corroborating_ evidence.” 

“That.”

She pouted harder. “Fine. But if you’re wrong and they can’t have pockets I’m not wearing one!”

Fortunately, Fenris had been right. Once Cass verified that she could, indeed, wear a dress without forgoing the various lethal accoutrements she was so fond of, she was no longer diametrically opposed to wearing them and she had acquired a small assortment of the garments. She looked absolutely stunning in them; long necklines and precise darting that accentuated her breasts - Fenris assumed there were probably other things about the cut that looked good but his focus never left that for very long - rich jewel tones that complimented her fair complexion. 

Unfortunately the other expectations for her appearance were just as tortuous as they had always been. Her wavy, auburn maine was always slightly unruly; no matter what Orana tried with it, it would lose its shape within hours; and she hated being forced to sit still for any length of time, particularly for something that never lasted more than a few hours and usually less than two; so getting her hair ‘appropriately’ coiffed was, to her, an arduous task. And she found the makeup physically painful, the ones she came closest to tolerating she would describe as ‘tight’ or ‘itchy.’ There had been a few she had tried that were ‘burning.’ None of them ever left any obvious marks so Fenris was sure she’d spent her life not being believed about the pain, but he knew that if Cass said something hurt her, it _hurt_ her.

Orana had tried to help Cass feel better about going through the process after she finished helping Cass get ready for the first party. ‘Helping Cass’ in this particular case had meant Orana had done almost all the actual work. That was unusual, Cass was generally very self-sufficient, but not unexpected as hair and makeup were things Cass didn’t care about, didn’t do, and wasn’t good at. “There, Mistress. I think you look very pretty.”

Fenris knew that was something Orana was used to saying whether she meant it or not, but he also knew that she wouldn’t say it to Cass unless she genuinely believed it. Fenris had watched the transformation as he lay on the bed reading. He was torn about his own opinion. On the one hand, what Orana had done had emphasized Cass’s eyes, and Cass’s eyes were quite lovely. On the other hand, something about the process had made Cass...less Cass. Like parts of her had been pared off so she could better fit into a mold. Fenris didn’t think striking eyes were worth the trade. Based on Cass’s expression as she looked at herself in the mirror, she didn’t think so either, and if Cass didn’t think so, he was sure.

“Mmm…” Cass looked away from the mirror and down at her hands as she started picking at her cuticles.

“Do...do you want me to try again? I could use some different colors…”

Fenris threw his book down to intervene before Orana could do anything that would necessitate her trying again. If left entirely to their own devices, he knew they would spend the rest of the evening getting more distraught as Orana kept trying to make Cass happy with the makeup and Cass kept not being happy because she was wearing makeup. It had taken Fenris a while to fully appreciate that there were times where Cass being happy just was not an option, and attempts to _make_ her happy would just end up with her more miserable. She just needed to be allowed to be unhappy and supported until whatever was making her unhappy had gone away.

“Stop, Orana.”

Orana looked between him and Cass. “But...but if she doesn’t like it…”

Fenris sighed. “She’s not going to like it. It’s not because of what you’re doing-”

“This is what you were talking about, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“When the Seneshal came. When you said they were going to make her do things.”

“...yes.”

“Do they care? Do they not know?”

“I don’t know if they know, but even if they do…” He sighed. “They don’t care.”

“But then why is she doing it for them?”

Fenris looked at Cass. He had asked himself the same question. He gave Orana the only answer he had as he smiled at Cass. “Because she’s her. It’s who she is.” He felt tears at the corner of his eyes. He quickly wiped them away, Cass would snap out of this and when she did he didn’t want her to think he had been upset.

“I don’t like them very much.”

“I completely agree.”

Fenris wasn’t sure whether he had heard the knock at the door, but he was sure he had heard Squall’s reaction to it as the mabari barked madly and, judging by the loud crashing noises, threw himself at the door.

“Oh dear, that must be Serrah Tethras…” Orana glanced nervously between Cass and the door to the hallway.

“Go down and tell him Cass will be ready in a bit. Make up something about the cat-thing if you need to. Or just leave him alone with it, that would give him something more important to worry about.”

“I don’t understand why you and Dante can’t just get along, you’re so sim-”

“ _Ask it_!” Fenris hissed, he did not need to be reminded he was similar to the cat-thing. “Now go before the damn dog knocks a hole in the door, I’ll help her finish getting ready.”

Orana stared at him skeptically.

“We can handle putting on a dress!”

Orana didn’t seem entirely convinced of his assertion but did at least leave the room to answer the front door. Fenris closed the room’s door behind her and turned back to Cass. She was alternating between looking at herself in the mirror and down at her hands.

“Cass?”

“You sure? I don’t look much like Cass.” She indicated her reflection. “She’s a lot prettier than Cass. Like, I’m supposed to want to be her, right? I mean, she probably wouldn’t care she has to go to a party. I need to try to be her, I think? She’s how I’m supposed to be?”

“No.”

Cass laughed hollowly. “She’s who they want.”

“She’s a pale imitation of the real thing. But she’s still more than they deserve.”

“I hate this stuff. I hate the pretending. I hate having to be something I’m just not.” Tears were starting to form in her eyes. Fenris rushed over and grabbed some of the tissue Orana had been using to make minor adjustments to the makeup she had put on. Cass flinched away from his hand the way she usually did when someone tried to impose comfort on her when she didn’t want it or wasn’t ready for it. Fenris pointed at the mirror to remind her what would happen if she really started crying just then. She scowled but rolled her eyes and stopped leaning away from him. “...I thought I was done with all that, again. It just keeps getting harder.”

Fenris reached out to hold her cheek and trace her cheekbone with his thumb, he knew she found that soothing. He stopped himself when he remembered he was about to make the same mistake Cass had been in danger of making; he did not want to see how Orana would react to finding out that not only could they not be counted on to handle putting a dress on but that he had ruined her makeup. He took one of her hands instead. He moved his thumb in the small circles on her wrist she would sometimes trace on his, but she started shaking at the contact, obviously not enjoying being on the reversal of the touch so he let her go.

“Cass, if it gets too hard…”

She shook her head. He wasn’t sure if she was trying to deny the possibility entirely or she just wasn’t ready to talk about it, but he knew better than to push her now.

“...are you sure you can’t come?”

He smiled at her. “Aveline was fairly clear on that point.” Fenris suspected that she and Varric were taking a divide and conquer approach to the situation; Varric making sure Cass would be there and Aveline making sure Fenris wouldn’t, to keep Cass from focusing her ire on either or both specifically. He was only tolerating the situation because Varric was probably right that Cass needed to be there and he knew that his being there, in the long run, would just make things harder for her

“...don’t understand why you can’t come.”

That was true, and he doubted she ever really would. At a basic level she understood that he couldn’t come because he was an elf. She just wasn’t able to understand what about that meant he couldn’t come. The world most people saw and the world she saw were just too fundamentally incompatible. The distinctions that mattered to most people; Elf, Human, Dwarf, Qunari, man, woman; were just irrelevant noise to her. She understood _that_ there were differences, but the way she viewed them was so detached, purely clinical; bone structure, stature, cartilage growth, keratin formations, prevalence of body hair, just how easy it is to remove a person’s reproductive organs if that was something someone was of a mind to do; she just wasn’t able to comprehend how any sort of value could be assigned them or extrapolations made from them, beyond basic biological reality like exactly where the arteries ran or just how much poison it would take to make sure the other person wouldn’t be getting up. She understood ‘mage’ a bit, if only by comparison, and even so the _way_ she understood it was fundamentally distinct. It was what made people so hard for her. And it was why she needed him there. It just wasn’t in his power to give.

“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t have a way to explain it.”

“Everyone else is an idiot?”

“Hmm...that works.”

She laughed. He would have been relieved but he could only hear hollow resignation in it. “I don’t want to go, Fenris.”

“I know. But I don’t have an alternative.”

“...okay. Guess I should get it over with then.” 

She stood and started to leave the room. He momentarily considered letting her leave in the robe. Take the opportunity to try and remind the nobility that were putting her through this that if they were so desperate for Cass to be Viscount, they should be able to accept that it would be _Cass_ being Viscount. He quickly dismissed the idea when he remembered that not only would Orana never trust him to put on a dress again, Cass would end up being the one shamed over the incident.

“Cass, you need to finish getting dressed first!”

She stopped and looked down at herself. “Oh. Right.” She looked around. “Where’s Orana?”

Fenris furrowed his brow. “We don’t need Orana’s help to put on the dress!”

She looked almost as skeptical as Orana had but didn’t argue. In the end, they had managed it, even if it did take them an inordinate amount of time to figure out just how all the various laces, buttons, and hooks were supposed to line up.

He had waited up for her to come back. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or worried when he heard her return less than three hours later, even though he knew from years of living in Hightown that the party would be going on until dawn. If he had been relieved, it quickly became worried when he saw her. She was shaking, her breathing was irregular and ragged, and she was flinching at any noise or movement.

It had taken her hours to calm down, longer than she had been at the party. He had tried to read to her, she usually liked that, but she hadn’t been able to keep still or be able to actually hear him over the ringing noise she would talk about hearing at times like that. Her insomnia hadn’t been as bad as it was as the coronation got closer, between it and the stress of forcing herself to be at the party, she had been sick for almost a week.

Fenris got up from the empty bed and went to check the closet where the dress for tomorrow’s ceremony hung. He hoped he would find Cass there, the dress in tatters. She had taken to pulling at the seams and loose threads of things. She had ruined several of his shirts as she clung to him while he held her, waiting for her to be able to relax enough to get just a bit of sleep, but if they kept her from marring her own skin Fenris was more than willing to sacrifice them. 

He opened the door. The closet was empty except for the dress, as pristine as it had been when the tailor had delivered it. Fenris didn’t like the dress much more than Cass did, it reminded him more of a wedding dress than anything else, snow white with pale gold brocade detailing and pearl accents. Of course it was a wedding dress that Cass would never willingly wear, and that just made the fact that Fenris would be watching her put it on for someone else that much worse. Cass hated pastels, she thought they made her look pasty and dead, and the lines were all wrong for her, not to mention its distinct lack of pockets. Bran had loudly and repeatedly insisted that he would not accept Cass concealing enough poison to kill everyone in the Keep at her own coronation and that her daggers and knives were equally unwelcome. The dress had been made for the Viscount they wanted to have, another reminder that while Cass was the Viscount they desperately needed, she was the last person they wanted to be Viscount. It would etch another scar that few people would see, and fewer would care was there. And give the people who had put it there an excuse to resent her for having the gall to have acquired it, assuming they noticed it at all.

Fenris considered ripping the dress himself, or at least leaving the closet door open to let either Squall or Dante do the inevitable, but Cass had been clear that if something _were_ to happen to the dress, it had to look like an accident, and an unforeseen one at that. He, the mabari, and the cat-thing were hardly unforeseen forces of destruction. He half-wished Cass had fought Bran about the dress, but Cass was always primarily tactical and pragmatic and as such had been very careful in picking the battles she would fight to the mat with Bran. She had won them all, she parlayed the advantage of knowing her feigns and fronts as Bran was distracted trying to fight her on everything beautifully, and Fenris had to admit the fights she had chosen to make sure she won were all more important than the dress. He decided to continue his search in the study that had become the makeshift staging ground for her ‘philosophical differences of opinion’ with the Seneshal.

“I hope you realize, Serrah Hawke, that this... _little menagerie_ of yours simply won’t do at the Keep.” Bran had been shifting his disdainful gaze between Fenris; leaning against a wall glaring back; to Dante; growling and hissing at the Seneshal from under the table, claws that Cass hadn’t been able to clip in weeks at the ready; to Squall; making a mess of the soup bone he had been given to chew while occasionally offering it to Cass, Fenris, or Bran to hold while he did so; to the door Orana had reluctantly shown him through.

“Well, Bran, if that’s what you want, I’m not going to fight you on it. Don’t know why it’s such a big deal to you though.” Cass hadn’t looked up from the documents she was studying. Fenris had been keeping an eye on her with Varric or Aveline because he knew she might need support; he kept an eye on her with Bran because watching her toy with the man was enjoyable. 

She had been a Magistrate’s clerk in Gwaren before Loghain MacTyr had noticed her and decided her acute senses and knack for making connections, as well as her eclectic knowledge of poisons, venoms, and toxins, could easily be applied to Ferelden’s efforts against the Darkspawn, or spying on Wardens, and had drafted her to shore up forces at Ostagar. Her legal background and intellectual acumen meant that Bran was completely outmatched, at least when she had the capacity to focus on the argument. Bran’s unwavering belief in his own inherent superiority meant that he never really realized just how outmatched. It made for riveting entertainment, even if Fenris had to deal with the occasional snide remark sent his way.

“Good. At least you have some capacity to see the reality of things.”

“Honestly, Bran, I don’t know why this is so surprising to you. I knew I wouldn’t be able to bring all my things with me. Besides, those tchotchkes will be safer here without Squall.” Cass indicated a cabinet where she kept her ever-growing collection of glass animal figurines.

“I...WHAT?” Bran looked between Cass and the cabinet she was indicating as the realization set in. “That is _not what I was referring to_.”

“It’s not?” Cass looked up from her papers with a look of mock surprise. “Well, then I am completely confused, I don’t know what else I have that could be described as a ‘little menagerie.’”

“You know _exactly_ what I’m talking about.” Bran practically hissed.

“Do I? And if I do, you sound awfully sure of that. You know the Templars are looking _very_ unkindly on blood magic these days.”

“I am quite serious about this, Hawke. These...things of yours…” he swept his hand around the room, indicating Fenris, the door, Squall, and Dante, “ _are not welcome at the Keep_.”

Unfortunately for Bran, as his hand swept the room, it had also indicated the cabinet. “Do calm down, Bran; hysterical displays are unbecoming.” Cass pointed to the cabinet. “I already agreed that I’d leave my little menagerie here, and I think it’s all in there but if I did leave any of them somewhere else in the room, I’ll leave them here too. I’ll do you one better and agree to leave any that might be lurking somewhere else in the estate here too.”

“Do not play games with me!”

“Games? Who’s playing games? I’m giving you what you asked for. You asked I leave my menagerie here, I said I would. Why are we still talking about it? Don’t we both have better things to do?”

“That is _not_ the menagerie I meant!”

“Well then I don’t know what menagerie you meant!” Cass put on an exaggerated reflection of the Seneshal’s tone and gestures. She wouldn’t have been able to match it exactly if she’d tried, but in this case she could put on the exaggeration without having to worry about it undercutting the point she was trying to make. “It’s not _my_ fault your request was ambiguous. You're just going to need to be clearer in the future.”

Bran slammed his hands down on the desk. Cass blinked innocently back at him. “You listen to me, Hawke. That feline abomination is a menace and tries to kill anything that gets too close-”

“Uh-huh-huh.” Cass waved a finger in front of Bran. “Dante is a rodent control apparatus and I need him to set an example for my new public health measures. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but there is quite the rat problem in Kirkwall these days. Also if you’re so worried about what Dante will do if you get too close, there’s maybe a very obvious thing you should stop doing.”

“THE MABARI is a walking disaster-”

“Kirkwall law clearly stipulates that warhounds are allowable as part of a Viscount’s protection detail and nothing in the definition of ‘warhound’ expressly requires they not be slightly clumsy. Actually, Squall is expressly defined _as_ a warhound as the mabari is among the breeds listed in the law.”

“We are _still_ getting requests from the heirs of the Magister’s apprentice you murdered on the Wounded Coast demanding you return the slave you stole-”

“Don’t have any slaves, so can’t help you with that one. I do seem to have some vague recollection of hearing about some Tevinters traipsing about the Coast years ago, but I don’t think any bodies have been found and it was less than seven years ago, so any claims from anyone’s heirs are premature at best. And even if they weren’t, there are no existing treaties which expressly require Kirkwall recognize any such claims, however if you think we should enter into one, feel free to submit a policy proposal and I’ll review it in the order in which it was received. Oh, unless more urgent matters requiring my attention take priority, that is.”

“NOT TO MENTION the requests after that incident in the Hanged Man with the Magister where there were bodies _and witnesses_.”

“Yes, and they all agreed that it was self-defense, and everything I said about the lack of a treaty is still true. What else you got?”

“It is completely unacceptable for the Viscount to have an elven _paramour_!”

“Bet you the crown I can find precedent.”

“You cannot continue flouting expectations like this! You are young enough that you can still take a husband and produce an heir, though Maker help the man who gets stuck with you.”

Cass leaned around Bran to look at Fenris. “We could get married. Still not sold on the ‘heir’ thing but it would shut him up about half of this.”

Bran abandoned all pretense of calm. “You could NOT get married to the elf!”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Cass shrugged. “I’m not dedicated and don’t you need to be for the Chantry to do that?”

“No-not _dedicated_! You’re not _dedicated_? How can you not be dedicated?” Bran’s face was turning from red to purple as he digested the new information.

Cass shrugged again as she went back to her papers. “Dunno. I’d say you should ask my parents but there’re a couple practical impediments to that.”

“ _Everyone_ in Hightown is dedicated!”

“Bran, you should really stop positing such demonstrably false theses. It really doesn’t do _anything_ for your credibility.”

“You need to be dedicated!”

“Why? I’ve done fine without it so far. Although if you’re _that_ fussed about it I guess I could always say the records got destroyed in what happened in the Chantry. Or, hmm...is it worse for me to lie and say I devote myself to the Maker to get dedicated now or lie and say the record of my dedication got destroyed? Bran?”

Bran alternated between opening and closing his mouth and gritting his teeth as he shook his head.

“Well, if you don’t have any suggestions I don’t really see a reason to continue on this topic, so if that’s all there was…” Cass waived her fingers at the door as she spoke.

“I’m being punished for something. I’m dead and the woman is my punishment.” Bran threw up his hands and left the room lamenting ‘not being able to do anything’ with Cass.

Fenris walked over to Cass, taking care not to get within striking distance of Dante. With Bran gone, Fenris had regained his usual distinction of ‘Dante’s least-favorite thing in the house.’ As soon as the Seneshal was out of sight, she had tossed the stack of papers on the floor and was working to remove the false top she’d had put on the desk to get back to the puzzle she had been doing before he came in.

“Do you want to?” He took a strand of her hair and twisted it between his fingers.

“Do I want to what? See how many places I can stab Bran with a pencil before I accidentally hit something vital and kill him? Only every time he comes over here. Unfortunately, he _is_ the only one who knows what’s been going on at the Keep the past four years so he’s still useful...for now.”

“Well that does sound like an interesting way to spend an afternoon, but I was actually wondering about getting married.”

She stopped working to unlatch the top. “I...um...do I? Like the whole dedication thing notwithstanding?”

“Yes.” He smiled down at her. “The ‘whole dedication thing notwithstanding.’”

“I-I’m not sure? I don’t _not_ want to or anything, I just never really thought about it I think? I don't…I don’t know, neverreallythoughtanyone’dwanttoputupwithme. Can we, um, can we not talk about this right now? It’s not...I don’t...I can’t…”

Fenris kissed the lock of hair he had been twisting before letting it go. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

Cass nodded before going completely still except for her eyes, which were racing after nothing too fast for Fenris to follow. He removed the top of the desk for her so she would hopefully notice the puzzle when she came back. If she did, it might just keep her from picking at herself.

She must indeed not have ever considered the idea of getting married. Cass saw enough threads, contingencies, possibilities, options, and alternatives to leave most people totally unable to act, so when she encountered a path she really had not thought was there it always took her a bit to consider it from all the angles she was the only one who ever thought to look at things from. She wouldn’t be able to give an answer until she had done it, so Fenris couldn't rush her, but he was slightly concerned that the paths her mind would take to process the idea would lead her closer than he’d like to some of the things that haunted her memory.

He had forgotten just how strong a proponent her mother had been of the idea of Cass getting married. Once Leandra had gotten over her initial shock about what had happened to Bethany and had gotten used to the life Cass’s money had bought them, she had devoted an inordinate amount of time to finding Cass a ‘proper husband.’ As far as Fenris had been able to tell, Leandra’s idea of a ‘proper husband’ for Cass was someone rich and/or powerful, other qualities notwithstanding. He had seen the men she had dangled Cass in front of at the parties she had dragged Cass to very much against her will. Not that he had been invited to the parties, but he had eyes and he had windows, and there had been a time when he had waited for Cass just outside them so they could talk as she came up for air before being pulled, usually literally by Leandra, back to them. ‘Rich’ and ‘powerful’ were the only characteristics they shared. The ones Leandra had been willing to overlook; old enough to be Cass’s father, old enough to be Leandra’s father, abusive, controlling, philandering, drunk, already married; still incensed him.

Fenris took a small measure of satisfaction that while Leandra would have been _thrilled_ at the idea of Cass getting married, she would have been apoplectic at the idea of Cass getting married to _him_. Fenris never got the sense Leandra particularly liked him. He hadn’t cared; the way she had treated Cass he especially disliked her. The most he could say about her was she had never been overtly hostile to him, or his and Cass’s attachment to each other, although that was probably at least partially because she knew from personal experience it wouldn’t have done any good. But he always had a sneaking suspicion that beyond Leandra knowing her objections wouldn’t change Cass’s opinion, objections _never_ changed Cass’s opinions, the reason Leandra had been as lenient as she had been was because she thought she could use what Cass felt for him as a way to push her towards someone else. ‘He looks rather like that elf friend of yours, doesn’t he?’ ‘His eyes remind me of someone’s...Oh, I think it might be your elf friend.’ ‘They say he’s quite skilled with the broadsword you know, like that elf you’re so fond of.’ Even before she had mentioned the broadsword it had been obvious Leandra hadn’t meant Merrill.

And then there was the argument he had overheard about a week before Leandra had died. He shouldn’t have overheard it at all, it had been after that night he’d left Cass crying alone in the dark. But even after he had run from her, he hadn’t been able to totally keep away from her. It must have been the third or fourth time that day he had ‘just happened’ to be passing by Cass’s estate, and as always he had been ready to disappear if he thought she might notice him when he had heard the argument through an open window. Although most of it had been less of an argument and more of a diatribe.

“Honestly, Cassia, I don’t know why you’re still so upset about this, you had to know he would leave eventually. Maker’s breath, he’s a _fugitive_ and beyond that you know how you can be sometimes, you can’t really have expected him to stay.” 

As far as Fenris could tell, Leandra had reserved the particular tone she had been using for Cass. She’d had a similar one for Gamlen, but the one for Cass was so much harsher. 

“Well? Don’t you have anything to say? You keep complaining that I don’t listen to you, but how can you expect me to when you won’t actually say anything? Did you do this with him? Do you think that might be why he left? You can’t honestly expect to find anyone who’s willing to play this ridiculous guessing game with you every time you get the least bit upset. Maker...you know what? I am done trying to sympathize with you, Cassia. You take every little thing and blow it completely out of proportion. You’re so busy feeling sorry for yourself that you’ve managed to completely forget the fact that he had absolutely nothing to offer you. Even you, Cassia, cannot have thought that you had any kind of a future with an escaped elven slave! Oh, for...stop standing there crying and say something! You’re not impressing anyone with that display.”

“...you come up with that all by yourself or did you just repurpose what grandmother told you about father?”

A pause punctuated by a muffled crack. It hadn’t been until Fenris had seen the bruise forming on Cass’s cheek a few days after he had actually realized what had happened.

“Don’t you _dare_ question me about your father! If you knew what I had to give up for you...I just...I can’t deal with you anymore. I don’t know why I try sometimes. _This_ is why you’re always alone!”

Most of the time Fenris still couldn’t believe the woman had maintained she loved Cass even as she was dying. The rest of the time, he was furious that she genuinely believed she had.

Fenris shook his head as he opened the door to the study in an effort to physically banish Leandra from his thoughts. He couldn’t help but take a pyrrhic comfort at the passing thought that as hard as the prospect of being Viscount was for Cass, at least her mother wasn’t around to make it that much worse.

Cass wasn’t in the study. He probably shouldn’t have been surprised; the desk, with his false top and hidden compartments had been moved to the Keep. Cass had tricked Bran into it by posing the rhetorical question about Squall’s destructive tendencies: ‘Well, what do you want to happen? Me to bring my own furniture to the Keep so he can destroy that?’ They both still found it funny that Bran continued to think he had won the exchange.

He finished checking the upper floor but no trace of Cass. He went downstairs to continue his search there. As he alighted the steps, he glanced at the hole in the wall he had left the night when the entire mess had started. He shifted his gaze to the banister to try and focus on pleasanter memories of the night.

He had meant to fix the hole months ago. Cass hadn’t been particularly fussed about it; it wasn’t letting in anything cold, wet, crawly, or slithery and the wall was still able to ‘present wall’ as she liked to put it so she didn’t care; but he had still fully intended to fix it...eventually, at least until the ‘inlaid sconce’ had become Kirkwall’s latest interior decorating trend.

In the immediate wake of the news getting around that Cass would be Viscount, the de Launcets had, for some incomprehensible reason, thought to try to sufficiently ingratiate themselves with Cass in order to usurp Varric’s obvious position as her unofficial ambassador, or his own as her unofficial major-domo. The Countess and her daughters had come by to invite Cass to play some Orleasian card game she had no interest in. Cass had initially thought to just barricade herself in the study until they got bored and wandered off, and Fenris had had to remind her that the de Launcets lacked the mental acuity to get bored and that if Cass didn’t do something about them they would just loiter in the foyer all day, criticizing things in increasingly loud voices.

Cass had huffed and grabbed a handful of papers at random before leaving the study. Fenris had followed her out. He wasn’t particularly interested in what would become of the de Launcets, but Dante had been in the study and he wasn’t about to miss an opportunity to not be in the same room as the cat-thing without Cass around to protect him. He had closed the study door behind them and turned to see Cass lazing over the railing looking as bored as she wished the de Launcets would be.

“Yes, well, consarn it, I am just _drowning_ in all the paperwork that’s piled up over the four years since there’s been a Viscount.” Cass waved her handful of paper; Fenris could see several sheets that contained nothing but the intricate patterns she would draw while her mind was occupied processing new information, or when she was bored with the contents of something. “So I really am just terribly afraid that I simply won’t be able to make the card game. Good luck though.”

Fenris wasn’t sure how the Countess managed to miss the sarcasm Cass was exuding, but he wasn’t terribly surprised when she responded as though Cass had actually meant any of the words, beyond that she wouldn’t be making it to the card game. “Ah, I understand. I am certain there are many things that require your attention. But if there is any way we can be of ‘elp, please do not 'esitate to call on us. I would be only too ‘appy to arrange for a mason to fix that unfortunate ‘ole in the wall.”

Cass had looked over at the hole the Countess was pointing to. Judging by her expression, she had completely forgotten it was even there. “Oh, right...uh, that. It’s...um...not a hole, it’s a...sconce. An inlaid sconce. Newest thing out of Antivia. So, doesn’t need to be fixed, it’s doing exactly what it’s supposed to be doing. Existing. Sconcially.”

“Ah, I see. I ‘ad not ‘eard of such a thing.”

“Oh, yes, well, very uh...avant guarde. Art neuveau. Cutting edge and all that.” She had turned to him looking completely at a loss about what to do. She inclined her head slightly down the stairs. The look and the gesture clearly communicated ‘ _Get these morons the fuck out of here, they’re scaring me and I don’t like them_.’

Fenris stepped out of the hallway to glare at the women gathered in the foyer over the railing. He hadn’t needed to say anything. Within seconds the intruders were making excuses and beating a hasty retreat.

“Why do they come?” Cass was bumping her forehead on the railing with each word.

“I...don’t know.” Fenris answered honestly.

“Can we make them stop?”

“Hmmm...permanently, perhaps.”

“Aveline would probably suspect us, wouldn’t she?”

“Likely.”

“Bleh, I’ll take it under advisement.”

Fenris and Varric had spent a week taking it in turns to take Squall for evening walks that just so happened to take them by the de Launcet estate. Several times. They had stopped coming by after that.

Unfortunately, their letters did not. Cass ignored most of them but had been somewhat distraught when she received one from Babette saying that they wanted to get an inlaid sconce installed and asking Cass to refer them to the workman who had done hers.

“I didn’t think they’d _believe_ me! I wouldn’t have said it if I thought they’d _believe_ it!” That was true, Cass never cared for lying; of course that didn’t stop her from telling convenient versions of the truth or pirouetting through loopholes. She had only made up the story because she thought it was so fundamentally unbelievable no one could take it seriously. She hadn’t intended to be believed, so it hadn’t been a lie.

Fenris had been too busy finding the situation hilarious to have been any help.

“Oh, I’m so glad this is funny to you! You are way too smug for the person who’s entire fault this is! Just what the fuck was I supposed to have said, ‘Ah, yes, that hole. Well, you see, I do not fucking want to be stuck fixing every single problem in this blighted mess of a city because it is going to drive me completely insane, and that is what my…” She stopped as she struggled for the word to use. He knew she wasn’t satisfied with any of the readily available options. 

Most of the whispers about them spoke of them as ‘lovers’ or a barely-removed euphemism, but to her that ignored an important aspect of their relationship, and if it weren’t for that aspect, they wouldn’t be lovers. Their friends called him her ‘boyfriend’ but she didn’t like that because she thought it was for people who dated and she wasn’t convinced that what they were doing constituted ‘dating.’ ‘Friend,’ ‘advisor,’ ‘support,’ ‘defender,’ ‘soul mate;’ all were missing something. She came closest to liking ‘soul mate’ but couldn’t bring herself to cede the predicate fact that it presupposed the existence of a soul to actually use it. She wouldn’t correct people however they wanted to describe it, with the exception of some of the more derisive variants of ‘lover’ which she never corrected but did use as an opening for an impromptu lecture on some of the more unpleasant side-effects some of the poisons she carried could cause, particularly in large doses or if they were to be administered directly into the bloodstream rather than absorbed through the stomach. She didn’t correct anyone because she didn’t think they were wrong, per se, she just wasn’t personally satisfied with their accuracy.

Fenris hadn’t wanted to leave her groping for a word he knew she wouldn’t be able to find. “I suppose I _am_ grateful you didn’t tell them I had done it. I would hate for them to start bothering me to be their decorator.”

She had laughed at the thought. It had given her the idea for her response, ‘ _Regrettably, the person who did the installation isn’t available by general request_.’ That hadn’t stopped the de Launcets from having one installed, or almost every noble in Kirkwall from following suit. Even Varric had one put in his rooms at the Hanged Man because he hadn’t been able to resist getting in on the joke, and Bran was still fuming that people kept asking when he would have them put in the Keep.

Fenris paused at the bottom of the stairs and stopped to consider how to continue his search. He knew he would be able to hear Cass going up the stairs, but he didn’t particularly want to have to search the upper floor again. He liked their games of hide-and-seek under the right circumstances, but these weren’t the right circumstances. He was about to just pick a room to search at random when he suddenly realized what he should have encountered by now in his search. In the weeks he had been searching for her after she had been driven away by the dark whispers in her thoughts, Dante had almost always interfered by now. 

The cat-thing divided its time between killing anything in the house smaller than it was, obsessively following Cass, and torturing him. One of its favorite ways to torture him was to try and prevent him from moving around the house freely unless Cass was with him. He couldn’t use treats to bribe it like Orana, since it didn’t trust him or anything he was trying to give it, so he was forced to risk a foot to slide it across the floor so he could pass. It was usually so surprised at the fact Fenris had dared to touch it that it didn’t immediately react by turning all five of its sharp ends at Fenris while he was moving it. The trick was to be able to shut a door between them before the surprise wore off. But Dante had completely ignored him this morning. The only time Dante completely ignored him was when someone was in the kitchen, and Orana couldn’t be in there because she was at the Keep trying to make sure Cass’s personal apartment there would be ready the next day.

Fenris opened the door to the kitchen and was greeted by Dante’s usual objections to his continued existence. They were slightly muted by the kettle that was still managing to eke out a bit of a whistle despite the fact that it appeared that almost all the water had boiled away. Cass must not have closed the door to the larder properly when she had gotten the tea leaves because Squall was sitting half in the thing munching away on a wheel of cheese, perfectly content. Cass herself was slumped over the table. Fenris always got worried when he saw her like that; she had hurt herself pretty badly in the past, and while she hadn’t done anything like she used to since they had been together and he had seen her collapse from exhaustion more than once in recent days, he didn’t completely relax until he was sure she was breathing. 

Squall and Dante could be ignored, or at least Squall could be ignored and Dante could be ignored in theory, but the stove needed to be turned off. He entered the kitchen and Dante hopped onto the table to make sure Fenris knew just how unhappy it was with his decision. He kept one eye on the cat-thing as he went to turn off the stove but it seemed to be content sitting in an angry ball and muttering darkly at him, or at least as content as it ever got when it could see him. With the stove off he considered what to do about Cass. He didn’t like the idea of leaving her to sleep at the table; the chairs in the kitchen were so heavy Orana couldn’t move them by herself but the mabari could still knock the one Cass was sitting on over without even trying. Even so, he didn’t like the idea of waking her up to move her. There was no telling how long she had been asleep, how long it had taken her to get to sleep, or when she would able to fall asleep again if he woke her. Unfortunately Dante didn’t care how little sleep Cass got, or at least not as much as it should have, because once the cat-thing realized Fenris wasn’t going to be leaving the room, it waddled across the table and began poking Cass in the face to wake her up.

“Get over here you little-” Fenris whispered at Dante as menacingly as he could manage. He reached over the table to try to grab the cat-thing to get it away from Cass, heedless to the fact that the arm he was using was entirely unprotected. Dante spun towards him and immediately recognized the target Fenris was presenting and launched a series of attacks at his arm he only just managed to avoid. He started trying to grab the cat-thing from different angles without suffering too many injuries with very limited success. While Dante’s paws, or more accurately the claws attached to them, were occupied away from Cass, its tail wasn’t. Like it always did when it was agitated, it was flicking its tail back and forth and, because it was right in front of Cass, hitting her face with every flick.

“I wasn’t asleep!” Cass bolted upright in the chair and blinked as she made her declaration. She had likely forgotten she had fallen asleep in the kitchen and, based on the position, assumed she had done so listening to one of Bran’s lectures.

Fenris scowled at the cat-thing who glared right back at him. “You were until _that thing_ woke you up.”

Dante growled, probably trying to argue that it had been Fenris’s fault it had woken Cass up.

“I...wait, what time is it?”

“Hmm, sometime in the morning.”

“Wasn’t it just like three a.m.? Why is it light out?”

Fenris sighed. He knew better than to think Cass had actually gotten to sleep at three. That was probably just the last time she remembered checking the clock, it might even have been when she had left the bed. She must have put the kettle on, and even if she had filled it all the way, he didn’t think it would take more than an hour or so to boil off. “Cass, I think you should come back to bed.”

“Why, I thought you said it was morning?”

“Cass, you have not slept through the night in _weeks_. Please, just come upstairs and come to bed.” He reached out a hand to her.

She shook her head a few times and winced as she placed a hand on her brow, she had been complaining of headaches the past few days as the insomnia caught up with her. She was still for a few seconds before she let out a soft ‘tsk’ and nodded. She reached over and grabbed his hand, provoking a string of discontented mewls from Dante. Fenris ignored the cat-thing and reached the hand Cass wasn’t holding across her back to make sure she would be steady as they went back upstairs, except for the few seconds it had taken him to close the kitchen door behind them.

“I have something I want to give you when we get up there. It might - I think…” he rubbed his cheek against the side of her head as he led her up the stairs and whispered to her, “I hope it makes you feel better.”

“A present? Wait, why do you have a present? Is it Satinalia? I thought we just did Satinalia? I mean I guess there’s one coming around again, but still…”

He laughed at that, “No, it’s not Satinalia, and yes, we did just do that, but I suppose you’re right about another one coming around.”

She stopped before the doorway to their room and turned to face him. She placed her hands on either side of his jaw and looked down at his chest. “Fenris...Fenris, what day is it?”

Her voice was breaking and he knew she was crying. He reached his arms behind her back and pressed her to him. “New Year’s. Today is New Year’s, Cass.” 

He felt her shake with the revelation, and realization of its implications. “No...no, I don’t, I don’t want to go to bed. I don’t want to spend our last day together asleep-”

“Cass, it is not our last day together.”

“But tomorrow...tomorrow I have to go to the Keep, and I won’t be able to be with you like this.” She was clinging to him like she was afraid he would disappear if she loosened her grip.

“I am coming with you, Cassia. I will be there with you, I promise.”

He could barely hear her reply through her sobs, “But not like this...there’ll be other people...and, and they’ll want me to be things...and they’ll try to make you go away...and I, I just want to be with you...I just want you, and they don’t want that, and I don’t know how to stop them, but I can’t...I need you, Fenris!” She kept repeating the last four words as she gripped his hair and pressed herself against him.

He held her tighter, “If you need me, you will have me.”

He wasn’t sure how long they stood there as he waited for her to stop shaking.

“I’m so, so tired, Fenris.”

“I know.”

“But I don’t want to go to sleep, I’m scared to go to sleep because what if I wake up and you’re not there anymore because they made you go away or you got tired of trying with me...”

Fenris allowed himself a moment to seethe with indignation at the people who had left her with these scars that he knew would never totally fade. Then he pressed their foreheads together. “Cass, you _need_ to go to sleep, you’re completely exhausted. I will be with you, you don’t have to do this alone.”

A noise between a whimper and a sob as she started shaking again.

“I will be with you, Cass. You don’t need to be alone ever again.” He reached into his pocket for the ring. A broad silver band made of intricately woven strands that looped and swirled and reminded him of the patterns she drew as she chased answers. At its center was an opal that iradeced in almost as many colors as her eyes. In the letters Sebastian had forwarded, the jeweler in Starkhaven had gone on about how the stone was supposed to enhance vision and clarity. Cass saw more and more clearly than anyone Fenris had met, so he didn’t think she needed the help, but it was her name stone, and it definitely suited her. 

It had taken considerable effort for him to get the ring without her finding out, not to mention Varric and Aveline who couldn’t be trusted not to meddle. He’d had to rely on the three of them being too distracted by the coronation to notice anything else, and he’d had to enlist help from Orana, Sebastian, and Donnic to make sure all the pieces would fall into place where he wanted them, and even then it had been a near thing. Cass had found one of the jeweler's letters, fortunately long since separated from Sebastian’s. More fortunately, it was when she and Bran had been fighting about her new wardrobe and she had assumed it was something to do with that. She had been livid with him for ‘wasting civic money on ridiculous frivolities’ and Bran had been uninterested in listening to her because, according to him, if left to her own devices she would ‘show up to every event looking less like a Viscount and more like a stablehand, or worse an apostate vampire’ so he had refused to discuss the matter with her. Fenris still didn’t feel the least bit guilty that she had included the money she thought Bran had spent at the jeweler’s in her argument for why the city couldn’t afford to throw a gala to celebrate the coronation.

He gently squeezed her left hand to loosen her grip on his hair enough to slip the ring over her finger. This wasn’t how he planned to give it to her; he had hoped to make it a Satinalia gift but Cass’s arm had been twisted, Aveline was good at that. She had been forced to go to the Chantry Satinalia service and hadn’t been in a very receptive mood the rest of the day, and he hadn’t felt that the time had been right since. He still wasn’t sure it was right, but he wanted her to have it for tomorrow, and he hoped it might help her get some sleep now.

She slid her right hand down to rest on his shoulder and leaned away from him a bit to look at the ring. He moved his hands to rest on her hips so she wouldn’t feel trapped as she did. She spun her hand back and forth to examine it. “Fenris, I don’t...what’s this?”

She seemed totally confused, and Fenris didn’t think it was just the exhaustion. “I think it’s generally referred to as an engagement ring.”

She was still spinning her hand, looking back and forth between him and the ring. “I...oh. Okay. That sounds right. But why are you giving it to me?”

He chuckled and smiled at her. “Because I’m asking you to marry me.”

“Well, that makes sense. I think. But why?”

“Because I love you.” He tightened his grip on her slightly. She seemed hesitant but didn’t resist or try to push away. “And because I want to be with you.” She squeezed the fabric of his shirt in her right hand. He pulled her back to his chest. “And because I want you to know I’ll always be there.” 

He started at her shoulder and trailed a line of kisses up her neck to her jaw. She ran the fingers of her left hand along his ear. His breath hitched when she adjusted the pressure and he could feel the ring, his ring, on her as she ran her hand along his ear. 

“And because…” He shifted away from her slightly so he could hold her face in his hands and run a thumb along her cheek, “Because I want to be your husband, if you’ll let me. Because I would be honored if you would be my wife.”

She was crying again, but these were completely different tears from minutes ago. “I...I didn’t think...I didn’t think anyone would want to, and I didn’t think I would want to, but I can’t wait for you to be my husband, and I would love to be your wife.”

“Hmm...I had a suspicion.” He leaned in to kiss her. He could taste the tears that still shone on her face, but they were drying, and he couldn’t feel any new ones flowing after them. She opened her mouth and tried to slip her tongue past his teeth to tempt him to deepen the kiss. He never needed much persuasion to get closer to her. He waited for her to make another attempt before opening his mouth and crushing his tongue into hers. She moaned and dug the tips of her fingers into him, her left massaging the back of his head as she shifted her right to grip his shoulder blade. He could feel her trembling; relief mixed with joy but tinged with the exhaustion finally catching up with her as her knees began to buckle.

He broke the kiss. “We need to get you to bed, Cass.”

“That’s fine.” She leaned back towards him, mouth aimed for his earlobe.

He caught her chin and ran a thumb along her lower lip. “That is not what I meant.”

“Then you should really be clearer in the future.” She closed her lips over his thumb and sucked at the tip, just grazing her teeth along it as she did so.

He grinned as he walked her back to the bed. She started to lean back to lie on it but he stopped her. His hand on her jaw kept her upright and the one on her lower back pulled her towards him. “Whatever am I going to do with you, Cass?”

“Didn’t we establish that you’re going to marry me?”

“Hmm...so we did.” He placed his hand across her back and slid the other around to the side of her hip. He squeezed it and lifted her leg as he guided her down to the mattress. As soon as she was lying down on it her whole body relaxed and her head lolled slightly to the side before she managed to jerk herself awake again.

“Cassia, you are utterly exhausted.” 

She tried to shake her head in protest but wasn’t able to lift it away once her cheek touched the mattress.

“Yes, you are. You can’t lie to me, remember?”

She gave a half-smile and huffed a laugh. “Not exhausted, just kinda tired.”

“We may have to agree to disagree about this.” He ran his thumb across her cheek that wasn’t flush to the mattress. 

She reached out for him but wasn’t able to extend her arm past his elbow before it started shaking. He took the back of her hand in his and ran his fingers along the ring he had put there as he lifted it to let her reach his ear. 

“But we didn’t...I mean I wanted to...things to say...what if I don’t wake up til tomorrow?”

“That’s okay. I know. I’ll listen when you can tell me. And I will be right beside you - always.”

She smiled for just a moment before her fingers stopped moving and her arm went limp in his hand. He lowered it to the mattress and pulled the covers over her. He slipped into their bed beside her. He reached a hand over to caress her hair and was surprised when he felt her moving beside him. 

“Cass?” He turned towards her, concerned she had already been forced back awake.

She lifted her head to pin his arm and snuggled into him until she was using his chest and shoulder as a pillow.

“Ofoofennis. Eeoomorro.”

Fenris let out a small chuckle. Cass would be horrified if she knew she had been tired enough to mutter those things to him. It wasn’t the first time she’d told him things when she was half asleep, but it was the first time he had been able to make any sense of them. He took the arm she had pinned and rested it across her shoulders to press her to his chest.

“Isaozzaing, annoizzen Bran.”

He felt her relax against him. He knew she wouldn’t be able to hear him, but couldn’t resist responding. “I love you too. And I’ll see you tomorrow. And I have no idea what you said about Bran but I completely agree.”

Fenris wasn’t sure how long it took him to fall asleep after Cass did, or how long they had slept when he woke up, but his worries about everything else fell away when he saw she was still pressed against him when he did.


End file.
